


国内のживой

by awkwardCerberus



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Episode Fix-it, M/M, Moving In Together, also ftr I don't actually know how to cook katsudon, duh ofc Makkas in here, i guess, lets pretend there's no language barriers, more like an Episode Insert, well kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9583145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardCerberus/pseuds/awkwardCerberus
Summary: This is not a place in my head,Reach out your hands and tell me just what you feel.This is not just all in your head,Mind over matter makes these things feel so real.("Mind Over Matter", by PVRIS)Or: As Yuuri makes the switch from Japan to Russia, he finds that sometimes all it takes is good company to make a place feel just like home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this took me forever to post omg I've had this in my works folder since whatever day the last YOI episode aired. Yall when I say I write slow I ain't kidding. But alas, here we are. 
> 
> Title translates to "Domestic Living" in Japanese and Russian, respectively. Other translations will be in the end notes.

Moving from Hasetsu to St. Petersburg was a huge step up from anything Yuuri had been used to. His family had moved houses a couple times before opening the onsen, and he'd taken most of his personal belongings with him to Detroit. But something about taking everything you'd ever owned and moving it all 4,600 miles away seemed different somehow.

What he couldn't fit in every suitcase he owned (a whopping total of three, plus two duffel bags, and his backpack) was boxed up and shipped over within the next week or so. Though, thankfully, Yuuri didn't have all that much to ship - although Viktor did have one or two trucks worth of things he'd have to return home from his stay at the onsen. The furniture he didn't need all that much, like his bed and old dresser, had been sold - along with copious amounts of Viktor Nikiforov memorabilia. Even Yuuri's parents had plans to fly out later in the month to help them settle in.

Which is perhaps why the whole experience had felt so surreal. He'd fallen asleep on the plane - convinced he'd be waking up in his old room at the hot spring after having a wild dream about being engaged to his idol and taking silver at the Grand Prix Finals - until Viktor nudged him awake to tell him they'd landed at Pulkovo. Even checking the shipping status on all his furniture in the taxi to the apartment didn't feel real.

It wasn't until Viktor unlocked the door of his apartment that it all began to sink in.

Viktor handed his fiancé the spare key he'd retrieved from his landlord with a smile, a kiss on the forehead, and told him, "welcome home, Yuuri."

Makkachin came padding out of Viktor's bedroom - _their_ bedroom - and greeted them both with a small bark before sitting down dutifully in front of them. Viktor knelt down to pet her and said something to her in Russian that made her bark excitedly. Yuuri picked up on his name in whatever Viktor said and suddenly Makka was putting her paws up on his stomach and trying to lick him.

Yuuri dropped his backpack on the floor and put a hand over his mouth as he started to cry (he'd done that a lot recently). For the first time in the mad rush that had been the last couple of weeks, the realization of it all finally hit him. Never in any of his wildest dreams did he picture himself here - at the highest point in probably his entire skating career and engaged to _Viktor fucking Nikiforov._

But, here he is.

Viktor stood and wrapped his arms around him, drawing Yuuri's face into his neck out of force of habit. Yuuri hiccuped into Viktor's scarf and mumbled something in Japanese, but it was too warped by his crying and fabric to come close to making sense.

When Yuuri finally looked up, his glasses had fogged up enough that he had to take them off and clean them on the edge of his shirt. By the time he could see out of them again, he was smiling more so than he has in a long time.

Viktor pulled a tissue from the package in his coat pocket; he wiped the tears from Yuuri's cheeks and pressed the tissue into Yuuri's hand so he could wipe his nose, the whole while mumbling sweet nothings under his breath.

"I'm sorry, V-Viktor," Yuuri sniffled into the tissue and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket, "I'm happy - I really am. It's just...it's just a big change..."

Viktor put his hands around the other man's cheeks and kissed the little furrowed space between his eyebrows, "I have faith in you, мое золото. And I'm so proud of you for making this decision, I know it was hard for you, Yuuri. It'll be a learning curve for the both of us."

Yuuri placed one of his hands over Viktor's and nodded. He could feel the cold metal of Viktor's ring on his cheek and he turned his face into Viktor's palm, kissing the lukewarm skin appreciatively.

"All I have with me now are all my clothes," Yuuri looked over his shoulder at the small mountain of suitcases and bags they'd piled by the front door, "is there a spare room where I can put them for now?"

After all this time, Yuuri still managed to surprise his fiancé; they were moving in together, yet he still acted like he'd only be staying for the weekend.

"I'll help you bring them into the bedroom," Viktor walked over and picked up both duffel bags in one hand and his own suitcase in the other hand, "I've been meaning to clean out my closet for a while now."

Yuuri - who was forever thankful for his mother's insistence on four-wheeled suitcases - picked his backpack up off the floor and grabbed two of his suitcases, kicking the third along in front of him with his foot. He followed Viktor through to the bedroom, only half listening to what the other man as he gravitated towards the large window adjacent to the bed. Yuuri abandoned his suitcases in the doorframe and his backpack fell off his shoulder again.

"There's just the one closet, but it's pretty big, so I think we'll be able to - honestly, Yuuri, these are _wood_ floors, you know. I hope you won't just be throwing your bag..."

Viktor trailed off when he turned around, the his hands slipping off the doors of his closet and fell slack at his sides when he looked back at Yuuri.

Yuuri had pulled open the sheer curtains over the window and was leaning on the window sill, his nose hovering an inch or so from the glass. He looked over the city's afternoon skyline in awe and his eyes darted from building to building trying to take in everything at once. He'd been in cities his whole life, bouncing around from one to another like a rock skips across a pond, and Phichit had always joked about his tendency to stare out the hotel windows trying to absorb skylines like a sponge.

"Don't stare at it too long," Viktor warned softly, walking up beside Yuuri and placing his hand on the small of the other's back. He leaned a hip against the window sill and looked at Yuuri with a small smile, "I wouldn't want you to get tired of the view."

Yuuri shook his head and took a step back, his glasses catching the sun's reflection off the glass buildings across the street, "I could never get tired of this."

He turned to look at Viktor happily, a blush high on his cheeks that he knew he couldn't blame on the early spring chill. Yuuri looked over the room, feeling that little tug of surreality again, and through the set of French doors that led to the rest of the apartment. The bed that they'd both wake up in, the bathroom they'd both share, the kitchen they'd both cook in, it was all perfect. It was all his.

Yuuri leaned up to give Viktor a chaste kiss on the lips before taking his coat off and draping it over the chair in the corner until it could be hung up. Viktor had been right on both accounts: the closet was 1) rather large, even considering it was a one bedroom apartment, and 2) in serious need of cleaning out.

They spent the next couple of days trying to make space in the closet for Yuuri's clothes. For being a single and world famous, Viktor was not the most organized of people. Although he did laundry before leaving for extended periods, that didn't mean he necessarily put it away; there were at least two laundry baskets of clean clothes laying in the middle of the closet, undoubtedly left behind when when Viktor left for Hasetsu.

The first day, they managed to fill almost three trash bags with clothes that Viktor had agreed to get rid of. It was also a bit of a couple's learning experience, as the both of them were starting to realize. When it had been time for spring cleaning at the Katsuki residence, anything that hadn't been used in a year or more was donated, unless it held special value.

While Viktor had discovered that Yuuri could be a very strict organizer when he wanted to, Yuuri had learned not to disturb the tweed peacoat hanging against the wall on what was now Viktor's side (the one that used to belong to his father, with the photograph of his mother untouched in the left breast pocket since her death almost two decades ago).

Viktor had even moved the remaining boxes of his old costumes up onto the top rack so that Yuuri could take the floor space along the wall for his when they arrived. He even offered to pack away some of his older trophies and medals to make space for Yuuri's along the fireplace mantle. Although, Yuuri only accepted the offer for the medals he'd won in the most recent Grand Prix - partly because he had them in one of his suitcases right then, and partly because everything else would take up their old places on the top of his bookcase that would go in the bedroom (or stay buried in a box under the costumes from his past failures that he kept as a nagging motivator).

By the time the everything else had shown up, the apartment had already begun feeling like home again - for both of them.

A small team of movers had arrived with the trucks from the moving company and there had been a nonstop stream of boxes and bits of furniture going in and out of the apartment all day. Yuuri had been in the bedroom directing where the bookshelves should go when his phone rang. He hadn't looked at the caller ID and the subsequent, " _ohayou, Yuuri!_ " on the other end of the line made him drop his phone.

He made a sound that was half a sharp gasp and half disbelieving squawk and picked up his phone as he ran out of the bedroom. Yuuri had to weave around two men carrying a floor lamp through the living room to the front door. One hand was fishing through the bowl on the table by the door for his keys, the other hand was trying to tug on his sneakers without untying them.

Viktor walked in from the kitchen, carrying a stack of conversation books and arranging them on the coffee table, "what are you in a mad rush for?"

"We forgot to pick up my parents from the airport!" Yuuri hopped back and forth between feet while he tugged his other shoe on. He had his phone pinned between his ear and his shoulder, muttering in Japanese too fast for Viktor to even hope to catch.

Speaking of, it was lucky that Viktor's books had already been on the table or else he would have dropped them. He swore lightly in Russian and squeezed the bridge of his nose. They had both planned to be there to pick up Hiroko and Toshiya when they flew in, but then the movers had been early and any plans they had were buried under the oncoming layers of boxes and furniture.

Yuuri hung up and shoved his phone in his jeans with his wallet, "I can go pick them up, if you can manage here. They're just at Pulkovo."

Makkachin stood up and walked over to Yuuri from her bed in the far corner of the living room, recognizing the familiar action of taking a coat off the coat rack. Yuuri slipped into his jacket and took the first scarf he grabbed (which just so happened to be one of Viktor's). He reached down to give Makka a quick scratch behind the ears and then stepped over to Viktor.

"I can handle things here until you get back," Viktor said, pushing Yuuri's glass back into place on his nose and looking around the apartment, "I can't imagine there's very much left."

Yuuri nodded and gave Viktor a chaste kiss on the lips, "okay. I'll be back in a couple hours, then."

He hurried through the open door, throwing a small wave over his shoulder as he turned down the hall for the back stairwell.

 

Yuuri's parents were standing at the baggage claim when he found them, still waiting for their suitcases. He apologized profusely for forgetting about them, but his mother was already wrapping him in a hug and gave him a teary-eyed greeting. His father remarked about how she had been crying tears of happiness on the plane and Yuuri couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

He and Viktor had to be at the airport early in the morning when they left Hasetsu, so the night before, his parents had thrown them a farewell party. Yuuko, Takeshi, and the triplets showed up after dinner, even though the main reason they showed up was to make Yuuri swear to call them at least once a week.

His parents had taken Viktor aside while Yuuri had been distracted by the triplets. Whatever they'd said must have been serious because when Yuuri looked over his shoulder at them, Hiroko was wiping her eyes and squeezing Viktor's hands, and all three of them were smiling. He'd found out later that his parents had been thanking Viktor for all he'd done for Yuuri.

Yuuri went outside and hailed a taxi while his parents retrieved their luggage, and they spent the whole ride home hounding him with questions. When they pulled up in front of the apartment building, his parents were in awe (Yuuri understood completely; every time he walked up to the apartment towers he still felt a little taken aback). Although now he was just glad the moving truck was gone.

Viktor was trying to organize the bookshelf in the living room when they walked in. He set the box of picture frames down and hurried over to greet them; it ended up becoming a big group hug, as if they hadn't seen each other in years as opposed to only a few weeks.

"Hiroko! Toshiya! добро пожаловать!" Viktor took their suitcases for them and led them through the apartment to take their luggage to the bedroom, "you'll have to excuse the mess. We're still trying to figure out where everything goes."

Yuuri's parents followed after them, marveling at the apartment like it was a museum display. The open floor plan and small size didn't make leave much for a tour, but they seemed to be enjoying it nonetheless. His mother had taken a special liking to the kitchen and, after doing a run through of the refrigerator and pantry, promised to do her best to make pork cutlet bowls for dinner.

The apartment only had the one bedroom, but Yuuri's parents were perfectly fine with sleeping on the foldout couch. His father was pleased to admit that it would give them more time to admire their son's recent winnings. Yuuri was impressed, too, at Viktor's display abilities.

Yuuri's silver Grand Prix medal had been hung next to Viktor's most recent gold above the mantel, and the other four of Viktor's gold medals had been hung two on either side. Various trophies for the both of them had been set along the mantel and several framed pictures filled up the left side - of Viktor and other skaters through the years. The candles on either end were a nice addition, and the candlelight reflecting off the trophies after they were lit would add a warm ambiance too the steel-themed apartment.

Viktor wrapped and arm around his fiancé's waist and pressed a soft kiss to his temple with casual ease, "I know you just wanted to put all yours on the bedroom shelf, but I thought they looked much better out here where everyone can admire them."

"Oh, Viktor," Yuuri smiled and leaned his head on Viktor's shoulder, "no, I love it. It looks wonderful."

Hiroko was gushing over the display - saying how beautiful Yuuri's silver looked hanging up, how she remembered how he'd won every trophy and how proud she was when he did. Yuuri was blushing into his hands, but his father was rubbing a finger along his chin in thought.

"Say, Yuuri...how come you don't have any pictures up yet?"

"Well, I don't really - "

Yuuri was immediately cut off by his mother, smacking him in the arm as she hurried back into the bedroom, rummaging through her suitcase and muttering under her breath. Toshiya and Yuuri looked back and forth between one another and the bedroom, lost as to what so haltingly important.

"I can't believe I almost forgot!" His mother hurried back into the room, an old picture frame in her hand, "I meant to give this to you before you left for the airport, but I forgot to put it with your things."

She pushed the picture into Yuuri's hands face down and nodded at it expectantly. Yuuri, anticipating it to be a photo of something embarrassing that he'd finally managed to put out of his mind entirely, turned the picture over hesitatingly. Instead, it was the last thing he expected, but it was certainly the most welcoming.

Inside the worn wood frame, was a picture of Yuuri when he was about ten or eleven, fresh from skating practice and crouched down in the entry way of the onsen. He was holding a puppy in his arms - a brown poodle, that looked more like a ball of curls with a mouth than a dog - and smiling so big his cheeks were practically glowing.

"We couldn't let you move out and not take Vicchan."

The ends of Yuuri's eyelashes felt damp, although he didn't really want to cry a second time so soon. He unfolded the stand in the back and placed the picture between the candles and a trophy on his side of the mantel. It certainly wasn't a selfie with Evgeni Plushenko at the 2014 Sochi Olympics, but it still fit in.

It was still early afternoon, and there was no small amount of work to do. Viktor had taken to helping Hiroko with finishing organizing the closet; Yuuri and his father were going through some of the boxes in the kitchen, trying to decide what got marked for storage and what stayed. Although, most of the boxes that went to storage were Yuuri's - family things that had been passed down to him that he didn't need or want but couldn't get rid of, his first pair of ice skates, the costume from his first competition (he'd been ten and taken second).

It was after six in the evening when they all decided to call it a day. All their work had paid off immensely and one could now walk through the apartment without having to weave around mountains of cardboard, though there were still several stack of boxes pushed off to the sides. Hiroko had taken the pork chops out of the refrigerator and Viktor had spent five minutes going through his cupboards trying to find the rice cooker.

Makkachin had been laying on the floor by Yuuri's feet while he helped his mother cut onions and her tail was thumping lazily against the floor. The next moment, Makka bounded towards the front door with a small bark, waiting dutifully in the entryway and staring at the door. No one paid her any particular mind until there was a pounding on the door that sounded more like kicking than knocking.

"Виктор! Я знаю, что вы и поросенок находятся там! Открыть!"

"Oh, that must be Yuri," Viktor remarked, as though the teenager at their door wasn't about to break it in if it wasn't answered in the next few seconds.

He set the plates he'd been pulling from the dishwasher on the counter and excused himself to go answer. Not even a second after the door was unlocked, Yuri had thrown it open and marched into the apartment like he owned it. He was speaking so fast that it took a moment or two for Viktor to even register what language he was using, but the way he was goading Viktor back into the kitchen with a pointed, accusatory finger made Yuuri think back to that night they'd met in the bathroom.

" _You_ haven't been anywhere near the rink in almost two weeks, and now _I'm_ the one who's getting his head bitten off for it!"

There was a paper bag under his arm, and the hand that wasn't driving Viktor back into the counter was stuffed in the pocket of that leopard print jacket of his. He was standing directly in front of Yuuri and his parents, although whether he was ignoring them or hadn't yet registered them standing there in mild shock was never explicitly defined.

"You and Katsudon have been shacked up in here doing Бог знает, что, while Yakov and Lilia have been driving me like a bull because _neither of you have shown up yet!_ "

Something in Yuri's eye twitched and he slowly turned his attention from Viktor to the small crowd of Katuski's, who'd been staring at him with the same vague as expression that one would look at an out-of-context video. Yuuri gave him a small wave with the hand that wasn't holding a knife and an endearing smile. Yuuri's parents both looked up from whatever food they'd been preparing and gave the other Yuri an enthusiastic, "Yurio!"

Yuri growled, "that's not my - "

Viktor raised an eyebrow at him, and Yuri's rage deflated. He stood up straighter and took off his hood, the surest sign of a defused Yuri Plisetsky. Viktor gave him a "Спасибо" under his breath and walked back across the kitchen to the dishwasher to pull out an extra plate and set of silverware.

"It's nice to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki," Yuri mumbled. It still came out sounding forced, but no one missed the small note of affection that managed to slip out with it. He set the paper bag on the counter in front of Yuuri's cutting board and nodded down at it, "those are for you, Grandpa made extra. I told him you liked them last time."

Yuuri paused cutting the last onion, wiped his hands off on a towel, and unrolled the top of the bag, feeling the attention in the room shift back to its casual tone of earlier. Two katsudon piroshki, each with a piece of paper towel wrapped around the bottom half, sat overlapping on the bottom of the bag.

He looked over his shoulder to Yuri, who'd gone straight for the refrigerator, and smiled (he was trying exceedingly hard to not cry from the onions; if Yuri thought he was crying over piroshki, he would never be allowed to live it down), "thank you, Yuri. And tell your grandpa 'thank you' for me the next time you see him."

Yuri grabbed a can of Baikal from the back of the fridge and bumped the door closed with his hip. He popped the tab open with a hiss and looked at Yuuri out of the corner of his eyes as he walked around the island and leaned against the counter, "yeah, whatever."

Yuuri's mother closed the lid on the rice cooker with her elbow and poured a few teaspoons of oil in a hot frying pan on the stove, "we were so amazed to see you win gold last month!" She pulled a pair of pair of plastic cooking tongs from a drawer to the side of the stove and moved the meat into the pan to fry, "your performance was really something!"

"And both of you breaking Viktor's records in one event?" Toshiya turned his attention up from the dishes he was washing - looking over his shoulder at both his son and Yuri with a proud smile, "a miracle if I've ever seen one."

Yuuri blushed pink. He'd finally gotten over the press and their endless reporting on every minutiae of his current life - he found it poetically ironic that he could slip out of the skating world without even so much as an over-the-shoulder glance, but once he slipped back in, he hardly had a moment to himself. He couldn't even go to the grocery store without seeing himself on at least one magazine, and every skating news site he followed was clogged to the gills with his and Viktor's return and Yuri's rise to the top (although he didn't mind the two latter; gold suited Yurio, like the ice suited Viktor).

"I keep trying to tell them that," Viktor mused, taking the bag of piroshki from the counter and putting it in the fridge. He placed his hand on the small of Yuuri's back and gave his fiancé a small kiss on the lips, "it's the dream of every coach."

Yuuri set his knife down and wiped his hands again; he turned to face Viktor and gave him another kiss, this one with less of a blush and more of his soft smile. As he passed the onions off to his mother, the other Yuri pretended to gag into his soda.

"You two are being _gross_. If you do that at practice everyday, I'm going to run myself into the wall."

"Then you're lucky you haven't seen us when we're alone," Yuuri remarked under his breath, looking over his shoulder at both Viktor and Yuri, flashing them a look that he rarely used outside of his Eros program.

Yuri's jaw hung open like a fish caught on the end of a line, and the bright red creeping up his neck meant that Yuuri's remark had gotten his point across. He went back to washing his hands with a satisfied smirk. Viktor was looking down at the younger Russian skater with that look of snide satisfaction he so often wore - his hand along his chin, pointer finger extended up across his lips.

He should have said: "Don't ask questions you aren't prepared to hear the answers for, Yura", but he kept his mouth shut and wove around the kitchen for the cupboard with the glasses.

Living single for so long, Viktor had never bothered to invest in a dining room table, and Yuuri had slowly adapted to eating at the counter or on the couch. But seeing as they now had an additional three people over for dinner, it was lucky the kitchen was as large as it was. The island had three stools on one side of the counter, which worked perfectly for Yuuri's parents and Yuri; Viktor and Yuuri had consented to standing across the island from them to eat.

"I haven't seen you off your phone since you sat down," Viktor mused, setting a bowl of freshly prepared katsudon down in front of Yuri, "don't tell me we're _that_ boring. Although...I amglad you're talking with someone other than your cat."

Yuri gave Viktor an overly sarcastic laugh and slid his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. He ran a finger around the rim of his soda can and leaned his cheek on his hand, "I was texting Otabek."

"Oh, and how is Otabek?" This time, it was Yuuri who decided to take a turn delving at Yuri's private life. He'd been walking around the place settings, placing bowls of kastudon between cutlery and glasses, "you two have gotten really close since the Grand Prix."

"It's not like we're planning our wedding or something," Yuri quipped.

Viktor had clearly started rubbing off on Yuuri - the way he countered Yuri's jab with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and that Try Me smile wasn't something that he had just picked up overnight. Yuri rolled his eyes and took another sip of his soda

"He's fine. I was supposed to fly out to Almaty to spend a week or two with him, but we had to move it back because his brother is getting married."

The look on his face when he spoke conveyed perfectly the annoyance of having yet another wedding even remotely affect him. Although, the passing glance that Viktor and Yuuri swapped each other across the kitchen meant that they had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't the reason for the delay, so much as the delay itself. However, they resigned themselves to allowing Yuri his private feelings and elected to not pry any further into it.

Viktor had spent a good few minutes trying to reassure Hiroko that he and Yuuri would take care of cleaning the kitchen after dinner, but eventually she admitted defeat and settled into the seat between Toshiya and Yuri. There was a small chorus of " _itadakimasu_ " before the meal, and another, smaller chorus of " _vkusno_ " once they'd begun eating.

The conversation bounced around from topic to topic. It had begun with Yuuri's parents asking him the same questions they always asked when they spoke on the phone (how practice has been going, has he been taking care of himself, what was it like living in Russia, etc.). From there, it progressed into everything from weather in the city, to what Yuri should name the second cat that he hadn't even been thinking of adopting before this conversation.

As the evening progressed, as bowls emptied and the conversation dulled away to the clinking of empty utensils on dishes, the atmosphere in the kitchen settled into a comfortable silence. Yuuri had been about to collect all the dishes and put them in the sink to be washed, but Viktor had him beat by a second. He spun around in his place and pulled open the cabinet with the glasses and mugs, only he reached for the second shelf and delicately pulled four champagne flutes from the back.

"It is a bit of a special occasion," he placed the flutes in the middle of the counter and whirled around to the refrigerator, pulling a half-sized bottle of champagne from the freezer. He held it up with that heart-shaped smile of his, "so I thought we could celebrate at least a little."

Yuuri watched Viktor pour him a glass with no small amount of trepidation - although the fact that Viktor only poured him half a glass was noticeably appreciated. Yuri looked at Viktor the same way someone would look at their friend about to do something stupid. A pair of champagne glasses passed in front of his face going to each of Yuuri's parents.

The other four had know that something important was eventually going to happen. As outgoing and occasionally extravagant as Viktor was, even he didn't just randomly break out the fancy champagne and fine crystal for something as casual as having the in-laws over to help unpack. Makkachin had come padding into the kitchen from her bed in the living room when she heard the cork pop, and she sat eagerly between Viktor and Yuuri, trying to be a party to whatever was happening.

"A toast," Viktor began as he raised his glass, put his arm in its usual place around Yuuri's waist, and pulled his fiancé in close to his side.

Yuuri's parents raised their glasses, and it was obvious already that both Yuuri and his mother were going to tear up at some point in the next few minutes. Yuri couldn't help but raise his can of Baikal and, as he almost never did, refrained from making any remarks about the PDA. Viktor tried to divide his eye contact as best he could, but once he began speaking, his eyes automatically gravitated towards Yuuri.

"To the new life that we've made together. Before, I couldn't imagine having someone to share my life with, and now I can't imagine a day without Yuuri in it," he turned to Hiroko and Toshiya (he even threw Yuri a small glance), "and to the family that have supported us from the beginning. We wouldn't have even made it out of the door if it weren't for you."

Surprisingly, it was Yuuri who began to cry first. He brought his glass forward and touched it to everyone else's, but his other hand had pulled his glasses down on his nose so he could wipe at his eyes. Viktor gave him another heartwarming smile and kissed the side of his head, while his mother reached across the counter to squeeze her son's hand.

"You two are being old and cheesy," Yuri rolled his eyes, but raised his can of soda anyway. He even may have smiled a bit as he looked at Yuuri and Viktor and muttered, "За тебя" under his breath.

 

Yuri didn't leave until almost ten o'clock, after somehow being roped into helping with the dishes. He stood at the sink talking about Georgi and Mila and how insufferable the rink was going to be with all of them there while he scrubbed out the bowl from the rice cooker. But, when he did leave, the apartment seemed to regress back into what Yuuri had so fondly called the "hotel state". The fact that he was helping his parents make up the fold out bed in the living room only served to elevate that feeling.

Yuuri had told Viktor about his "hotel state" on his fifth night staying there - _living_ there, he corrected. They were sitting at the counter eating dinner and Viktor caught him staring out the living room window, his fork of halfway between his mouth and his plate. He'd felt like this in Detroit too; the feeling low in his chest that began as trying to adapt to somewhere new, and from there bloomed into a dreadful homesickness. His parents would leave in a few days, and he would go back to feeling like a guest staying at another fancy hotel.

At quarter to eleven, Yuuri finally finished helping his parents make up the foldout couch, and slipped into the bedroom. He closed the doors with a muffled click and pressed his forehead to the polished wood. He drew in a slow breath - in through his nose, out through his mouth, and counted to three before taking a step back and turning around.

Viktor was sitting on his side of the bed with Makkachin curled up by his knees on top of the duvet, one hand stroking the poodle behind the ears and the other hand slowly thumbing through a magazine. He turned his attention up to Yuuri and gave him the soft smile that usually meant it was time for him to come over and relax. He patted the space on the bed next to him, and even Makka turned to look at Yuuri over her shoulder.

Yuuri opened the third drawer of the dresser and pulled out a pair of red sweatpants that had a large, white, "DETROIT" down the left leg (a gift from Phichit after he'd moved back home), "I hope you don't mind that I gave them some of the blankets from the hall closet. Just the green and white quilts, and that one thick brown one."

"Yuuri," Viktor cocked his head to one side and gave Yuuri another endearing smile, "you keep forgetting that you live here too. You don't have to give me notice for everything."

"I know that, but..." the end of his sentence trailed off as he slipped from his jeans to his sweats and crawled into the bed next to Viktor. Both Makka and Viktor were looking at him a small degree of concern, and Yuuri let out another measured breath, "it's all still so...new. I'm sorry, but I guess I'm just taking longer to adjust than I thought."

Viktor tsked under his breath, set his magazine on the night stand, and reached for Yuuri's hand. He put an arm around his fiancé's shoulders and pulled him closer, "мое золото, don't apologize. It's a big step up, I understand, especially because its only the first couple of weeks. Once we start getting a routine down, it'll all start to feel normal."

"That's right, I forgot. We start tomorrow." Yuuri shifted under Viktor's arm so that he has laying down enough to rest his head on Viktor's shoulder, "it'll be our first practice as official competitors."

Viktor smiled and kissed the top of Yuuri's head, "mm, I know. This means that I'll know all the secrets to your routines."

"Well, I'll know all the secrets to yours too. And everyone else's. It won't be much competition if I know half of the people skating."

They both exchanged soft chuckles under their breaths and reached over to turn out the lights. Yuuri folded his glasses up on the nightstand beside his phone and felt Viktor settle in beside him, one arm snaking itself around his waist in a tired request that they finally go to bed now. He gladly obeyed, sliding down under the covers with Viktor's stomach pressed against his back.

St. Petersburg was a huge step up from Hasetsu. It was a huge city with a population probably three times larger, everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere, and the sidewalks were always choked with people. The winters were bitter and freezing with snow piled up in every little crease, and the summers were barely warmer than autumn in Japan. It rained almost constantly in the fall, and it was a half hour walk through the heart of the city to get to the ice rink.

But home was were the heart was, and Yuuri's heart belonged in St. Petersburg.

**Author's Note:**

> Baikal is an actual Russian soda that supposedly tastes like eucalyptus cough drops. It sounded like something Yurio would drink. And for the record, I don't actually know what gender Makkachin is. The wiki said it was never revealed in the show so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ idk makka feels like a girl doggo to me.
> 
> Please imagine Yuuri wearing [these sweatpants](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/ba/12/3b/ba123b24a435b05603728a7f61106b08.jpg). You're welcome. 
> 
> мое золото - my gold  
> добро пожаловать - Welcome  
> Виктор! Я знаю, что вы и поросенок находятся там! Открыть! - Viktor! I know you and the piggy are in there! Open up!  
> Бог знает, что - God knows what  
> Спасибо - Thank you  
> За тебя - To you (informal)


End file.
